


Our Hands Clasped So Tight

by epeolatry



Series: Sexual Revolution [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Demisexuality, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, First Kiss, First Love, Hand Jobs, Heterosexuality, Holding Hands, Homosexuality, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation, Relationship Negotiation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Virginity, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras and Grantaire finally get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Hands Clasped So Tight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is the last chapter of Sexual Revolution (again, sorry about that title - ugh!). Massive thank yous to everyone who's been reading and especially those kind enough to comment, leave kudos, and bookmark. I've already got ideas for a sequel, so hopefully that will be happening soon! :)

Marius had never been a romantic, never been in love, never even really had a crush on anyone before, but Cosette… _Cosette!_ Her entrance into his life had hit him with all the force of destiny, expelling the cynicism from his heart and the very air from his lungs every time he saw her. He was glad that she had made the first move and asked him out a few weeks after they met, because he would never have dared to.

 

When he was around her he felt light-headed, dizzy, awkwardly-shaped, like he was too big for his own body. His words came out brokenly and his dopey smile was obnoxious, and the entire time he was acutely aware of her goodness, her radiant happiness, her virginal beauty… Moreover he knew that she _wasn’t_ a virgin, which only served to make him feel more ill at ease with his own clumsy, cumbersome virginity.

 

It wasn’t that the freckle-faced law student had no sex drive – god no! Just about every time he got home from seeing Cosette he would have a furious and guilt-ridden wank followed more often than not by a bout of angry crying – but he was terrified of doing anything that might upset her. Terrified of the presumption that she would _want_ to have sex with him, terrified of his own inexperience, terrified of anything that might break the fragile bond he was working so hard to build between himself and that beautiful creature who soared above him.

 

But _god_ , the things she did! The way she kissed him, sliding her perfect pink tongue across his lips and into his mouth… The way she touched him, feather-light caresses across his shoulders and back, dancing fingers dipping teasingly beneath clothing as her kisses became more insistent, needier, downright _dirty_. And then he would panic. He would feel his skin growing hot and itchy, the flush on his cheeks spreading to his chest and ears as he tried to think of anything but the horrifyingly fast-growing hardness in his trousers. He would make his excuses and leave Cosette pouting those tempting, kiss-swollen lips as he hastily exited her bedroom, or the lecture theatre, or the Café, or the cinema, or any of the one hundred and sixty-four other locations that Marius had almost come in his trousers just from Cosette’s proximity.

 

Marius was always careful to ensure that they never went to his house, firstly to retain his escape route in case things began to heat up, and secondly because of the handful of times that Cosette _had_ entered the student dwelling, Courfeyrac had embarrassed his lovelorn flatmate so thoroughly that Marius had ~~begged~~ forbidden his flirty friend from ever again speaking to the giggling blonde.

 

Which was why this afternoon was so unusual.

 

Firstly, the fledgling couple were at Marius’ place (in the law student’s _bedroom!_ ), and secondly they were alone in a house usually populated by no less than four young men, sometimes more.

 

Tuesday afternoons usually went like this: at 2:30 pm Marius would finish his last lecture and go across the road to the Café Rousseau, where he would order a soy latte for himself and a vanilla latte for Cosette, who would walk in at precisely 3:11 pm (having finished her last lecture at 3:00 pm), and smilingly make her way over to their usual table in the corner, where they would happily remain chatting until 6:00 pm, when Marius would either walk Cosette home or wait with her until Professor Valjean came to pick her up in his surprisingly dilapidated car. Accordingly, Tuesdays were Marius’ favourite days of the week.

 

But today he’d received a text at 2:22 pm that had turned the rising anticipation in his stomach into cold lead.

 

COSETTE

Can’t make this afternoon babe,

sorry. Raincheck for next week? xx

 

Marius’ fingers stuttered miserably as he typed back in what he hoped was a nonchalant way;

 

MARIUS

No problem, I have coursework

anyway. Are you free Saturday?

 

COSETTE

No can do, dad’s taking us on a

surprise trip up the coast for a

few days. Have a good afternoon xx

 

Marius slumped back in his seat, no longer counting the minutes until his class ended, merely begging the ether to _please let it be a short trip, please let me see her soon, I’ll_ die _if I don’t see her!_

 

To make matters worse he had to walk home alone in the rain; Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan had tickets booked for a movie that Marius had turned down in anticipation of seeing Cosette; Enjolras was tutoring until 8:00 pm in the university library; and Joly was too ill to leave the quarantine zone he had arranged around himself in the small flat he shared with Jehan.

 

By the time Marius reached his front door, soaked through and with his hair falling wetly into his eyes, he was feeling so utterly dejected that he wanted nothing more than to throw himself down on the sofa and watch reruns of old TV shows until he fell asleep.

 

Naturally when he entered the empty living room, shrugging his sodden coat off and kicking off his squelching trainers, the smell of Cosette’s perfume caught him off guard. He put it down to a malicious imagination and sighed deeply as he flung himself down on the sofa. A second later he sat bolt upright again, cheeks flaming, as a soft and instantly recognisable voice called from down the hall, “Marius? Is that you?”

 

**

 

GRANTAIRE

We need to talk

 

It took the artist an entire bottle of wine plus Éponine standing over him menacingly, ready to smack him around the head with said empty bottle, before he could work up the courage to send such an innocuous text message; it did not bode well for how he was going to handle the requested ‘talk’.

 

A reply announced itself with a cheery beep barely seconds later, much to Grantaire’s surprise, as he had expected to be kept waiting.

 

ENJOLRAS

Sure. When & where?

 

Grantaire looked up at Éponine in an appeal for direction, panic in his green eyes as she pursed her lips sternly at him.

 

“When..?”

 

“Now!”

 

GRANTAIRE

Now? My place?

 

ENJOLRAS

I’ll be there in 10. ~~~~

“Shit, shit, shit!”

 

“Stop fussing. You _need_ to do this. If you don’t do this you’ll never know how he feels, you’ll never resolve the tension between the two of you, and I’ll never again be able to sleep on a dry fucking pillow.”

 

“Shit. Fuck. Ép, what do I say?”

 

“How about ‘ _I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met and provided you’re not the homophobic asshole I thought you were can you please fuck me into the mattress’_?”

 

Grantaire groaned, “Not helping Ép!”

 

She snatched away the fresh bottle of wine that Grantaire was desperately trying to open and shrugged, “Just tell him you like him. Go from there.”

 

“Oh, uh huh, it’s that easy yeah? This is _Enjolras_ we’re talking about, he could probably strike me dead with just his eyes, or if that didn’t work he could whip up a lynch mob with a few well chosen syllables!”

 

Éponine merely rolled her eyes in response to Grantaire’s histrionics, “Are you seriously still convinced this boy doesn’t like you? _Enjolras_ – the one who always drives you home when you’re too drunk to stand, the one who begs you to argue harder against him at those dumb student meetings so that he can ‘hone his debating skills’, the one who answers your drunk dials at four in the morning, _the one who you woke up snuggling with last Sunday_ – and you still don’t think he likes you? Take a hint, ‘Aire.”

 

There was a knock at the door and Grantaire visibly paled while letting out a noise that sounded something like a strangled yelp.

 

Éponine winked, “I’ll get it. I’m on my way out anyway…” and she shook off Grantaire’s clutching hands that silently begged her not to leave him.

 

Grantaire remained huddled on their shared mattress, trying to ease his breathing into a regular pattern as he heard Éponine’s falsely bright voice from the hall, “Oh Enjolras, _what a surprise!_ Grantaire’s in the bedroom, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

 

Then the front door slammed shut and Grantaire counted the footsteps up the hallway – heavy steps, not Éponine’s light footfalls – until he knew that Enjolras must be standing right outside the closed bedroom door. Feeling heavy and out of place in his own body, the artist stood and took the interminable three steps towards the barrier that stood between him and the object of his lustful confusion.

 

Opening the door he smiled wanly, still having to remind himself to breathe regularly while simultaneously trying to remember how to form coherent speech. White noise rushed in his ears and his stomach seemed to be twisting into some sort of over complicated knot that may or may not be symptomatic of an actual medical disorder – he would have to speak to Joly about that.

 

“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign and entirely wrong.

 

“Hey,” returned Enjolras, “Mind if I come in?”

 

Grantaire stood dumbly aside, allowing the blonde into the room that suddenly seemed unbearably messy and embarrassingly inadequate a place for the confession he was about to make. Cigarette smoke hung in the air and the peeling posters on the walls were covered with flecks and sprays of paint. The grimy window was cracked and the damaged glass was inadequately covered by a few sheets of old newspaper taped haphazardly over it. The mattress on the bare floorboards surrounded by empty bottles looked like something that belonged in a brothel or a crack den, and there were piles of dirty clothes – men’s and women’s – scattered everywhere, which only added to the lewd impression.

 

“Sorry for the mess…” Grantaire apologised, running a hand nervously through his mop of hair.

 

“It’s fine,” said Enjolras stiffly, though he was inwardly shocked at the state of squalor that Grantaire and Éponine actually lived in.

 

“Do you want to sit down?”

 

“I think we’d better,” Enjolras gave a small, tight smile which somehow made the knot in Grantaire’s stomach relax ever so slightly; he knew why he was here.

 

They both lowered themselves onto the mattress and Grantaire rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as Enjolras silently turned to face him, understanding that whatever needed to be said between them also needed to be given time to be said.

 

The artist inhaled deeply, then said with his head still in his hands and his dark curls obscuring his face, “I really like you.”

 

It was as though that rushed exhalation of words had a carried with it the weight of months of tension between them, and though Grantaire didn’t see it Enjolras’ facial expression changed from one of attentive concern to complete serenity as that simple phrase poured out of the artist.

 

**

 

“Cosette?” Marius answered, his voice tremulous as he refused to believe what he immediately knew was true; she was here!

 

“Yeah,” he could hear the radiance of her smile in her charming voice, “Come here, will you?”

 

In a daze, and with a sloppy grin plastered across his wet face, Marius stood and walked up the hall to his room. He found Cosette sitting prettily on the edge of his bed, her schoolbag on the floor but no sign of any other travel necessities.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The sly smile she gave in reply shot a bolt of heat through Marius’ chest, “Dad’s not really taking me on holiday this week. He’d never make me miss lectures like that.”

 

“So, why..?”

 

Marius felt the familiar clumsiness overcoming him as he floundered between standing in the doorway and seating himself next to her on the bed; standing was too formal, too awkward, but sitting beside Cosette on a bed would be overwhelming, unseemly…

 

“I wanted to spend some time with you, alone. In private. Just so that we can talk.”

 

Marius felt himself nodding dumbly, his head thick with dizzy happiness. Cosette patted the bedspread beside her and against his better judgement the law student found himself sitting down at the foot of his bed, alone in his house for once, with his impossibly beautiful, devastatingly clever, and terrifyingly assertive girlfriend.

 

“So we’ve been going out a while now,” she began, her smiling eyes turned to Marius who nodded once in agreement, “And I think that we have something really special. I’ve never met anyone else like you Marius, so smart, so kind, so loyal, and so _handsome_ ,” she grinned as he blushed, “Shut up, you are. I just want you to know how lucky I feel that I get to be your girlfriend and how happy I am with you. But I need to ask… When are things going to get physical between us? As in, sex.”

 

Marius blanched, choked, then blushed furiously all within the space of a single second which he would forever remember as the most embarrassing second of his life.

 

“It’s not a problem if you’re not ready,” Cosette hurried on, losing her surety at Marius’ adverse reaction to her words, “I can wait if you’re not ready. I’m _happy_ to wait for you. But I want you to know that I’m ready whenever you are.”

 

“Um, okay. Well…” stammered Marius, his face burning a hot pink as he attempted to formulate some escape strategy, but she had him trapped; he couldn’t make any excuse to leave when they were in his own home and she knew very well that he had no other plans for a Tuesday evening.

 

“You don’t have to say anything right away,” she soothed nervously, worried that she’d seriously misjudged her timing and overstepped some boundary, “I just wanted to let you know, that’s all. I’m ready whenever you are.”

 

“Um, can we just… Could we…” Marius squeezed his eyes closed and willed his breathing under control as he counted to ten before continuing, “I’ve never actually been physical – _as in sex_ – with anyone before.”

 

“I know,” smiled Cosette lightly, taking one of his hands in both of her own.

 

“So could we maybe start out slow? Not jump right to the… intercourse?”

 

Cosette smiled just as Marius dared to reopen his eyes, and the radiance and love that emanated from her in that moment dispelled his fears almost entirely.

 

“Of course. Whatever you need, my love.”

 

**

 

Enjolras chose his words carefully, knowing that while rhetoric was his particular gift, he also seemed to have a knack of miscommunication with Grantaire. He felt that in order to avoid any future offense or misunderstanding between them simplicity was key, so he said quietly, “I like you too.”

 

Grantaire’s agitated fingers, which had been worrying his own curls as his head remained slumped in his lap, froze immediately.

 

“Come again?”

 

“I like you too,” and this time Enjolras felt a genuine smile pull at his lips and colour his voice; this was nothing like the painful confession he had expected to make, it was more like a revelation, a lightening of the heart, and suddenly he wanted very much to reach out and touch Grantaire, to rub a comforting hand down that hunched spine, to clasp those worried fingers in his own.

 

“But as a friend, yeah?” Grantaire said, still refusing to look up at Enjolras, and the scrap of hope that sounded in his voice at this small concession seemed to tear a wound in Enjolras’ freshly blooming happiness.

 

“Not as a friend, no. Not as _just_ a friend.”

 

At those words Grantaire sat bolt upright, and though he still didn’t turn to face Enjolras the law student could now at least see the artist in profile, and the expression of tight shock on his pale face was enough to make Enjolras laugh aloud.

 

“Why are you laughing?”

 

Now Grantaire did turn to face Enjolras, and the desire to touch him, to stoke a hand down his stubbled cheek, to brush those unruly curls from his forehead, was almost overwhelming.

 

“This isn’t a joke is it? Oh god, please tell me this isn’t a joke!”

 

“It’s not a joke,” smiled Enjolras, “It’s been a long time coming but… I like you. And I am assured by every common acquaintance between us that you like me too.”

 

“Of fucking course I do! Summa cum laude and you only fucking figure that out now? Here’s some advice, if your legal studies don’t work out, don’t fall back on a career as a detective!”

 

Enjolras laughed openly, lightly; it felt so good to finally have that weight taken from him and be shared with him by Grantaire, beautiful Grantaire who was right there next to him on the bed, who was suddenly moving closer to him, whose murky green eyes were now closed, whose lips were wet and inviting and less than a breath away from his, and-

 

“Woah! _No!_ ”

 

**

Marius was feeling decidedly overwhelmed with the situation he now found himself in. Some small part of him wished that the comfortable Tuesday routine of meeting at the Café had not been interrupted; a larger part, a more animal part, a part made of pounding blood and a lust that he had barely known himself to contain growled that from now on _this_ should be the regular Tuesday schedule, _yes yes yes_ , this should be the regular schedule for every moment of every day of the rest of Marius’ life.

 

Cosette had begun by leaning over and placing a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips, not presuming that he would want anything deeper than that, or that he would even return the gesture. But Marius had returned the kiss, cautiously at first, though it was certainly not the first time their lips had pressed together, not the first time their mouths had slid open, their tongues had entwined, their hands had reached up to tangle needfully in long hair and shirt collars.

 

He broke away from the kiss gasping, but for the first time in his life he did not find himself ashamed of the stirring arousal in his gut that would very soon be making itself all too obvious in his trousers; Cosette’s blue eyes were dark with lust, her full lips glistening pinkly, and she was _willing to do this_.

 

Not sex.

 

Not right now, at least. Marius knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be capable of keeping himself under control long enough for that sort of activity, but there was plenty that could be done in the meantime, plenty of things that had hitherto seemed dirty or shameful but which now just seemed exciting and dear god he wanted to try each and every one of them!

 

“Are you ok?” asked Cosette, concern dulling the sparkle of lust that had lit her eyes a moment before.

 

“Yes,” assured Marius, “Yes, please, don’t stop.”

 

She had all but leapt on him, which was how he found himself now, still fully clothed and seated on the bed but with Cosette straddling his lap and making such wanton noises in his ear as he kissed her throat that he knew his erection must be painfully apparent. This knowledge was confirmed as she ground her hips into his and sparks flew behind his eyes as he almost came right there.

 

He groaned loudly, breaking the contact of his mouth on her shoulder, and Cosette beamed down at him, her beautiful blue eyes dark and wicked as she stripped him bare with each stroke of her hand over his back, each muffled gasp, each slow slide of her hips.

 

“Cosette… I can’t really…”

 

“Shh it’s ok, I don’t mind if you want to come.”

 

Sparks flew again as Marius reeled in the aftermath of such a filthy word coming from such a pure and beautiful mouth.

 

“Would it be ok if I take your trousers off?”

 

Entire galaxies collided behind Marius’ eyes at the possibilities presented by this offer; “Y-yes.”

 

With another uncharacteristically wicked grin, Cosette slid off Marius’ lap to kneel on the floor between his legs. He had to close his eyes as her nimble fingers worked his jeans open because the sight was just too much and if he came before she’d even divested him of his trousers he would never be able to look another woman in the face.

 

Then all at once he was naked from the waist down, Cosette’s deft hands having worked his jeans and boxers down to his knees with one sharp tug, and it _should_ have been embarrassing, being so completely exposed to her while she was still clothed, but it wasn’t, it was _arousing_ , and his leaking cock twitched excitedly as she smiled delightedly with a mouth that Marius would never again think of as being pure or innocent.

 

**

 

Grantaire leapt away just as quickly as Enjolras recoiled from the artist’s offered kiss, blurting out, “No? What? Why no? I thought- Oh god, what have I done?”

 

“No, no it’s not you,” Enjolras breathed, “It’s me, it’s completely me, it’s just that… Well, do you remember when I asked if you were gay – sorry again about that, by the way - and then you asked if _I_ was, and I said I don’t… I kind of meant that I _don’t_.”

 

“Don’t what?” Grantaire’s forehead creased in puzzlement and once again Enjolras ached to touch him, but knew that he needed to explain himself properly first.

 

“I don’t… Do anything. With other people. Sexually speaking. Um, the correct term is asexual. Although since meeting you Courfeyrac informs me that the correct term is actually ‘demisexual’, meaning that I am only capable of feeling real sexual attraction unless there is an existing emotional connection.”

 

“Right,” Grantaire exhaled slowly, “Ok. So that little freak out just then, that wasn’t me messing things up? Or it was, because I tried to touch you when you don’t- Christ. I’m still a little lost here, Enj.”

 

“It’s ok. This is very new to me too. I do like you, and I do want to touch you, and I want you to touch me… I think I just need a little warning next time…”

 

“Okay, I can do that,” Grantaire glanced down at the newly formed space between them, “Can I, um, hold your hand?”

 

“Of course,” Enjolras positively beamed as he scooted closer to the artist, closing the gap between them by laying his head on Grantaire’s shoulder as their hands clasped warmly together.

 

So, have you ever…?”

 

“How would I know I didn’t enjoy it if I hadn’t ever tried?”

 

“Ah. Ok.”

 

Grantaire simultaneously felt a wash of relief at not being burdened with the responsibility of Enjolras’ first time (if that was even a possibility on the table here – he didn’t know at this point how much ‘touching’ Enjolras was willing to do), and a surge of jealousy at whoever had divested his Apollo of his virgin state. Jealousy was an uncommon feeling for Grantaire, who had always been free with his sexual favours, but nonetheless he found his face growing unpleasantly hot at the thought of anyone else touching Enjolras so intimately.

 

“Was it a guy or a girl?”

 

“A girl. A friend in high school. She was on the student council and used to help Combeferre and I arrange protests. She has two children now.”

 

Grantaire almost choked.

 

“Not mine!” Enjolras quickly clarified, “No. It was just the one time, it was protected, and I didn’t… I didn’t finish.”

 

Grantaire raised his dark eyebrows, “Did you ever think that maybe it was just the wrong set of genitalia?”

 

Enjolras nodded, “That did occur to me. Courfeyrac offered to help me ‘experiment’ but I didn’t feel any need to. I felt no urges towards either men or women whatsoever, I never have. Until you.”

 

Grantaire swallowed thickly, “Why me?”

 

Enjolras considered this, then replied truthfully, “I don’t know.”

 

Grantaire’s shoulders slumped.

 

“But I knew,” the student continued, aware that he was walking a thin line across Grantaire’s fragile heart, “When I woke up at your flat after that protest… I knew there was something different about you, about the way you made me feel.”

 

“Sure it wasn’t the head wound?” Grantaire smiled wryly.

 

Enjolras chuckled, “I hoped it was. I’ve never felt anything like it to be honest. It was like physical arousal, only on an emotional plane. It was all very confusing.”

 

“So you’ve never really felt… sexual arousal?”

 

“I’ve felt it. It’s just a physical need though, like being hungry or thirsty. I never really attached any importance to it, or saw the need to get another person involved in the relief of it.”

 

“Christ. That shouldn’t sound so hot. Okay, but you’ve always just taken care of yourself? Oh god I can’t believe I just said that. Ok, wow, so you’ve never really ‘got anyone else involved’?”

 

“There was no need to. Besides,” the blonde smiled wryly, “I always thought being fucked by the government was enough for me.”

 

Grantaire laughed at that and Enjolras was glad to have relieved the awkward tension that their conversation had been building.

 

“Man… I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Grantaire admitted, licking his lips self-consciously, “Would that be ok? No tongue or anything, promise.”

 

Enjolras felt a shiver pass down his spine as he nodded and lifted his head off Grantaire’s shoulder so that their lips were barely an inch apart.

 

Grantaire took the initiative, pressing his lips lightly, chastely, against Enjolras who allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he let himself fall into the unparalleled pleasure of love’s first kiss.

 

**

 

Marius’ ragged breathing was just returning to normal as he lay slumped back on the mattress with Cosette curled around him, one of her slim legs entwined with his and her blonde head resting lightly on his chest as it rose and fell erratically. As it turned out she had not needed to use her mouth at all to bring him to climax; she had simply wrapped her delicate fingers around the base of his cock and stroked him once before he had been unable to stop himself from spending in her hand.

 

Forty-two apologies later, Marius found himself staring at the ceiling, still half bathed in the afterglow of his most embarrassing orgasm to date and yet feeling like the luckiest man alive to have such a beautiful, intelligent, and deviously assertive girlfriend.

 

“I love you, Cosette,” he murmured, his voice low as he carded gentle fingers through her long hair.

 

She sighed against his chest and snuggled in closer to him, “I love you too, Marius. Forever.”

 

“Forever,” he agreed, and just as his eyes fluttered closed he had a fleeting thought that forever might just be long enough for him to learn enough self-control to actually have sex with the goddess beside him.

 

**

 

The kiss deepened under Enjolras’ firm insistence; knowing that Grantaire would now be too terrified to make any sort of sexual advance (and kicking himself for the knowledge of that), he carefully opened his mouth and swept his tongue across the artist’s lips, while raising one long-fingered hand to sweep into dark curls and pull the other boy closer.

 

Grantaire, as predicted, was slightly alarmed by Enjolras’ sudden forcefulness and made to pull away, but when Enjolras tightened his grip in Grantaire’s hair, keeping the artist anchored to him, Grantaire let out a small groan and sank deeper into the kiss, his own hands coming to rest gently, hesitantly, on Enjolras’ hips.

 

At last, after what seemed like hours, or possibly only seconds, Enjolras gently pulled away from the kiss, taking care to drag Grantaire’s lower lip with him in a gentle bite as he did so. For a moment the two boys simply looked at one another, uncertain green eyes meeting clear blue ones, both with pupils blown wide. Enjolras’ hand was still caught in Grantaire’s hair, and heavy, callused fingers remained immobile on the law student’s hips. Grantaire unconsciously licked his lips and Enjolras saw that they were red and slightly swollen, and the simple knowledge that he had been the one to make the artist look that way – as no doubt his own lips looked, thanks to Grantaire – sent another bolt of heat into the pit of his stomach, where it coiled heavily and meaningfully, making his breath come in heavy gulps despite how much he tried to disguise it.

 

“That was…You’re amazing,” panted Grantaire, seemingly as unabashed by his breathlessness as Enjolras was embarrassed by his.

 

“The things I would do for you,” continued the artist, his eyes dark and lustful despite the shade of wariness there, “I mean, if you would let me… The ball’s totally in your court. You can do anything you want to me, I mean it, anything at all. I really don’t have any boundaries. And I’ll do anything you want me to, anything you let me, and I promise it’ll be good, I’ll make it so good for you, I- Oh my god. Please make me stop talking. I sound like a porn star trying to write a love poem!” and he turned his face away from Enjolras, the already flushed cheeks turning a little pinker in discomfiture.

 

But Grantaire’s devoted words had caused a surge in the heat at the pit of Enjolras’ stomach, and the law student murmured quietly, “Keep talking please, tell me what you want to do,” as he tugged gently at the artist’s dark curls. This kind of arousal may have been new territory for Enjolras, but he was nothing if not tenacious, and he approached the challenge with the rational curiosity and determination to see it through that characterised all of his movements through life.

 

Grantaire’s eyes snapped back to Enjolras’, wide with surprise, but at a silent nod from Enjolras the artist continued in a low voice, “Wow, okay… Well you know that I’ve liked you for a long time, which means that I’ve had a long time to think about everything we could do together and oh god the things that I’ve thought about would make my mother turn in her grave! I think about you all the time, kissing me like you did just then, like you want me, like you need me, like you’re completely in charge and I’m… Oh fuck.”

 

Enjolras had looked down with a shuddery breath and caught sight of the prominent bulge in Grantaire’s trousers. His own cock was beginning to stir as well, but the artist seemed to take the break in eye contact as a bad sign.

 

“Oh shit, sorry. Was that too much? Did I go too far? Sorry about…” he indicated his lap, “Y’know. Can’t really help it around you, I guess,” he gave a shaky laugh that was at once desperate and unsure and beautifully fearful, and it made Enjolras want to kiss him until he never felt any of those things ever again.

 

The law student looked up and said in a husky voice, “No. I want to hear it. I want to hear what you think about me doing to you. What you want me to do to you when we’re alone, like this. Right now. What could we be doing right now?”

 

If it were possible, Grantaire’s eyes widened even further and he groaned unashamedly despite the fact that the only points of physical contact between them were Enjolras’ hand fisted in his hair, and his own hands stationary on the law student’s denim-clad hips.

 

“Okay,” he began, voice shuddering and suddenly hoarser than it had been a moment before, “Like I said, I wouldn’t ever make you do anything you didn’t want to, I wouldn’t ask you to cross any boundaries for me… But if it was ok with you, I’d _really_ like to suck your cock one day.”

 

Enjolras knew immediately that Grantaire spoke true; the heavy twitch in the artist’s trousers confirmed how turned on he was by the idea of taking Enjolras in his mouth. Enjolras found the thought suddenly not as uninteresting as it had previously seemed to him, and the mental picture of Grantaire’s swollen lips wrapped around him caused a swelling in his own groin.

 

“I mean, it’s something I’d love to do for you, especially if, y’know, you’ve never had that before, because it feels really good, and I promise I know what I’m doing. I could suck you until you could barely stand, and I’d let you fuck my mouth if you wanted to, I’d like that a lot actually, I really would, you could fuck my mouth until you came down my throat and I’d swallow it all. Or you could pull out and come across my face if you wanted to, I’d like that too, being marked as yours, and I’d lick it all up, I wouldn’t miss a drop, I promise… Is this too much?”

 

Grantaire was panting heavily now, the vivid imagery conjured by his own words swiftly exceeding what he could handle while fully clothed and in the presence of the man that those selfsame fantasies had centred on for so many months. Enjolras could tell that the other boy’s erection must be pressing as painfully against the denim of his jeans as his own was; truth be told Enjolras had never _wanted_ so badly in his life and he was at somewhat of a loss as to how to handle the situation. So he settled on his default mode of rationalising and issuing instructions.

 

“No, no it’s fine. That actually sounds like something I’d like to try with you. Keep going, I want to hear what else you think about. But… would you mind taking off your trousers?”

 

Grantaire at once leapt to obey and tried to stop himself, so he ended up making a strange jerky motion which involved snatching his hands away from Enjolras’ waist, half standing up, then sitting down again heavily.

 

“You sure?” he asked breathlessly, “ _Please_ be sure.”

 

“I’m sure,” smiled Enjolras, flattered by both Grantaire’s willingness to obey and his desperation to respect the law student’s boundaries, “Is it ok if I do the same?”

 

“Um. I would be more than ok with that. Yes.”

 

And suddenly they were both sitting cross-legged on the mattress, facing one another with their hard cocks exposed and both chests heaving for breath. Enjolras realised how silly it looked to be wearing a shirt at this point, so he stripped that off too, and was quickly copied by Grantaire.

 

“Oh god,” exhaled Grantaire, his cock twitching and already leaking with precome, “Oh my fucking god. In all of my fantasies I never actually thought that you telling me to strip would be that hot.”

 

“What else do you want me to tell you to do?” encouraged Enjolras, having already picked up that this was an obvious kink of Grantaire’s, and suddenly finding that perhaps it was a hitherto unsuspected one of his own as well.

 

“After you finish fucking my throat I’d like it if you told me… how good I was,” Grantaire ducked his head, as if ashamed of this submissive desire, but he continued doggedly as Enjolras nodded encouragement, “And that I pleased you. And that you enjoyed coming down my throat, or across my face, or whatever.”

 

“I would,” cut in Enjolras, his voice husky and his words unintentionally spilling out of him, “I think I’d enjoy that a lot. I’d like to try it some time. Not right now, but some time I’d like to try fucking your mouth.”

 

Grantaire looked as if every wish he’d ever made had been granted, and his cock twitched autonomously.

 

“Would you mind if I..?” The artist wrapped his hand gently around himself and Enjolras nodded, doing the same, as the dark haired boy continued his monologue while stroking himself firmly.

 

“And then I’d be so hard, just like I am now, and even though I’d had you in my mouth I’d want more, and I’d beg you for it, and you’d look at me like you always do – with that little frown, half stern, half exasperated – and you’d look me up and down and tell me to get on my hands and knees for you.  And I’d do it, I’d love it, I love it when you boss me around, and I’d be on my hands and knees for you in seconds, and- oh fuck, god, this is too good, gotta slow down…”

 

“Tell me what I’ll do to you when you’re on your hands and knees.”

 

Enjolras was stroking himself faster, and this was unlike any other sexual experience in his life. Of course he’d masturbated before, but it was a necessary exercise, an annoying intrusion of the body on his mind which was always focussed on far more important tasks than eating or showering or wanking. But this, _this_ , was a total focus of the body and the mind on one common goal, and he found himself almost overcome with the sensation of it as Grantaire continued, the dark timbre of his voice indicating that he was reaching his peak as rapidly as Enjolras was.

 

“You’d… You’d open me up with your fingers. You’d be whispering filthy words in my ear, telling me to hold still and be quiet even though I’d be all but fucking myself onto your hand and whimpering and moaning because you’re just so fucking beautiful and good and I don’t deserve it. But you’d be there anyway because this is my fucking fantasy and in it you want me as badly as I want you, okay? Jesus Christ, Enjolras, I want you _so badly_ … And if we were like that, with me on my hands and knees and you opening me up it wouldn’t take long because I like it when you’re rough, and you’d just push into me and I’d scream, but it’d be so good and it would hurt and you’d be so deep, and then you’d be fucking me properly and I’d be moaning your name and you’d be telling me that I’m a good little slut for your cock and, and… Jesus! Fuck, Enjolras!”

 

Grantaire came into his hand with a gasp and a shudder, some of his seed splattering onto his stomach as his exhalations became whimpers and his bright eyes screwed themselves shut.

 

It was enough for Enjolras, the sight of Grantaire coming completely undone before him while narrating what he wanted the law student to be doing to him. Enjolras came into his own fist with two more sharp tugs, and as he floated back to himself in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm of his life, he realised that he had climaxed with a drawn out moan of Grantaire’s name.

 

They remained facing each other for a few minutes, panting in unison as each tried to process what had just happened between them. Finally, Enjolras broke the silence by asking, “Did you mean all of that?”

 

“Every word,” blushed Grantaire, and Enjolras noted that this admission seemed to fluster the artist more than openly orgasming in front of Enjolras had done.

 

“I liked it.”

 

“Yeah? Yeah, me too.”

 

“I’d like to try those things you were talking about. I still want to take things slowly, but I’d like if we could build up to me fucking your mouth, and then bending you over.”

 

Grantaire swallowed thickly, and had he not been sitting there with a fistful of his own still-warm seed then he would have been instantly hard at those words.

 

Enjolras smiled lazily, “So, uh, tissues?”

 

Grantaire wordlessly grabbed his discarded shirt and tossed it to Enjolras, who after a moment’s hesitation cleaned himself off with it, passing it back to Grantaire so that he could do the same. The law student felt suddenly cold and he scooted closer to Grantaire, aware that now they were both spent there was no danger of any sexual misinterpretation of his actions, and curious as to what the feeling of skin on skin was actually like.

 

He found the warmth of it was something that he enjoyed very much, as he rested his head on Grantaire’s shoulder and the artist’s arms encircled his waist, holding him close in an intimate embrace.

 

“So do you want to grab some dinner?” Enjolras asked, still leaning on Grantaire’s shoulder and blissfully content in his newfound physicality.

 

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

 

“I might be.”

 

“You either are, or you aren’t.”

 

“Okay, then I am.”

 

“In that case I’d love to.”

 

Enjolras smiled; despite all his misgivings it was good to have someone to hold.


End file.
